


with your hands

by kazzeng



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Bottom Will Graham, Bruises, But in a sexy way, Choking, Episode: s02e08 Su-zakana, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Homoerotic Murder, M/M, Masochism, Mostly Canon Compliant, Murder Fantasy, Oral Fixation, Power Bottom Will Graham, Rough Sex, Sadism, Season 2 spoilers, Strangulation, Top Hannibal Lecter, Topping from the Bottom, Unorthodox Therapy, Unsafe Sex, Wet Dream, a little too much, besides the sex obviously, diverges from the plot during the therapy session, will acts out his murder fantasies, will enjoys his nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29476596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazzeng/pseuds/kazzeng
Summary: “Do you fantasize about killing me?”“Yes.”And oh boy, did he.______________________the murder nightmares were sexual and we all know it.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, hannigram
Comments: 7
Kudos: 107





	with your hands

**Author's Note:**

> due to the nature of the fic (and the show itself of course) there’s going to be depictions of graphic violence + the enjoyment of them. 
> 
> enjoy :)

_Hannibal was strapped into a white straight jacket, completely defenseless, feet dangling inches above the ground._

_Will hardly registers the knife in his hand as a foreign object. It’s a part of him. An extension of his body that was bestowed on him to fulfill his only desire._

_Kill Hannibal Lecter._

_He makes sure to look at his face as he does it, the smooth slice of the knife having no effect on the curling smirk on Hannibal’s face. He doesn’t even blink._

_The blood was hot and it poured over Will’s face and chest by the gallon. Sticky and smelling bitterly of copper, he still somehow had a feeling that if he tasted it, it would be sweet._

_He liked it. The warmth of the liquid, and the fact that he knew where it came from, the fact that he had killed Hannibal Lecter made his heart beat quick with adrenaline and swell with pride._

______________________  
  
_

Will awoke with a start. 

He was sweating, as he always did after a nightmare. The damp shirt stuck to his chest and felt all too familiar to the one from his dream; soaked in blood. Hannibal’s blood. 

Will didn’t even have to look this time to know that he had a hard-on. 

It was becoming a regular occurrence. No more normal wet dreams, oh no, only endless and vivid scenarios of Will’s deepest fantasy, the murder of his psychiatrist. 

He burned hot with shame at the dilemma that came with his arousal. Guiltily finish, which was only possible through the replaying of his dream, which largely disgusted him; or leave it, take a cold shower, and suffer throughout the day with the effects of pent-up frustration? 

Like usual, a cold shower would have to do. 

Will stripped fast and efficiently, throwing all of his clothes besides his boxers into his pile of dirty laundry before turning on the shower, making sure the knob was turned all the way to cold. 

As he waited for the water temperature to adjust, he sat on the closed toilet seat, elbows resting on his knees, palms dug deep into his eye sockets. He was mentally preparing himself for the icy rain of water, but also attempting to bury the temptation to put his hand down his boxers and indulge himself anyway.

Eventually realizing he was wasting water, he strips his boxers, too, and climbs hastily into the shower. Mind still clouded with incoherent thoughts about his intentions with Hannibal. 

He remembers after the shower that he has therapy today.

Some sort of heat curls in his gut, like tendrils of a flame were consuming him from the inside. Anxiety about seeing Hannibal, excitement about seeing Hannibal, a deep seated hatred for the man, a deep seated love. He ignores them, as usual. He’s getting quite good at that. 

He dresses in a simple dark blue button down and dark jeans. No need to dress up for the occasion. 

The rest of the day is some sort of haze. Agonizing over the recent case, grading papers, watching the dogs, attempting to push any thoughts of his dreams from his mind. Mostly, he’s successful. 

By the time it’s late enough to leave for therapy, Will is absolutely convinced that his unwilling dreams are behind him. 

“Come in, Will.” 

Hannibal’s voice is a deep baritone in his ears as he opens the door from his office into the waiting room where Will is sitting. 

He is dressed far too formally, as always, his three-piece suit pressed and pristine, tailored perfectly, giving the clear impression of Hannibal’s lean body. 

Will says nothing when he enters. 

The library of Hannibal’s office is impressive, as always. The interior of the room is furnished handsomely, with paintings and sculptures that surely cost more than Will’s house. 

“Sit down, please, Will.” Will hadn’t even noticed he’d still been standing. He promptly takes a seat in the armchair across from Hannibal. He hardly waits for Will to get settled before he begins.

“Let’s talk about the case.” Will is almost startled by the abruptness. “You were able to reconstruct these killer’s fantasies. One dead creature giving birth to another.” He wastes no time jumping into their session.

”Rebirths can only ever be symbolic.” Will’s voice is cold, he isn’t looking at Hannibal; he can’t bring himself to.

”You’ve been reborn.” Says Hannibal. 

Understatement of the year.

As if Hannibal hadn’t twisted him and _perverted_ his psyche into what it was. His ‘rebirth’ was completely of Hannibal’s creation. Will looks at Hannibal, now.

”Wasn’t that the goal of my therapy?” They both know the weight of the truth that the question carries.

Hannibal doesn’t care to answer. 

“How does it feel consulting again with Jack Crawford and the FBI?” Diverting the conversation. Nothing could ever be straight forward with Hannibal. “Last time it nearly destroyed you.”

Will didn’t care for the avoidance of guilt Hannibal was attempting. Pretending that Will’s state of mind, imprisonment, and subsequent ‘rebirth’ was naturally occurring. Anger bubbled in his throat. 

“Last time, _you_ nearly destroyed me.” Will corrected. 

“After everything that has happened Will you still blame me—“ 

“Stop right there.” Will interrupts. “You may have to pretend. But I don’t.”

Hannibal has to think about it for a second, his head tilting to the side slightly. 

“No, you don’t. Not with me.”

Will needs to say what he’s been thinking every time he’s seen Hannibal since his release from prison. 

“I don’t expect you to admit anything. You can’t.” He sighs. “But I prefer sins of omission over out-right _lies,_ Dr. Lecter.” It is painfully honest on his tongue. An unspoken agreement. “Don’t lie to me.”

”Will you return the courtesy?” Hannibal asks. Something stirs behind his eyes and Will cannot place it. Another unspoken understanding passes between them. 

_Yes._

”Why have you resumed your therapy?” Hannibal questions. Will must repress a scoff at the obviousness of the answer. 

“I can’t just talk to any psychiatrist about what’s kicking around my head.”

Hannibal surely has no idea about what exactly Will is referring to. His mind is hazy with thoughts of his dreams. They’re hard to repress as he looks at Hannibal, Will’s eyes tracing the curves of his face unconsciously. 

“Do you fantasize about killing me?” Hannibal asks, suddenly. 

The air is sucked from Will’s lungs at the bluntness, from the shock of how transparent he must be to Hannibal. 

When he looks at the man across from him now, he can imagine it. The blood pouring from his throat, the smirk on his face, the helplessness, the surrender of life, the infliction of pain. 

Well, he did promise honesty. 

“Yes.”

Will expects some sort of reaction, yet there is none. Perhaps, judging from the fact he asked the question at all, he probably already knew what Will’s reply would be.

“Tell me, how would you do it?” Hannibal’s eyes seem lit aflame, as he looks at Will. 

Thousands of scenarios rush through Will’s head. He’s had plenty of time to think about it. His mind fills with potential, though he knows exactly what he must say, what the truth is. 

“With my hands.” He swallows hard.   
  


He can picture it. His hands wrapped around Hannibal’s throat, watching him gasp for air. It’s how he wants to do it; its undeniably intimate and absolutely how he would enjoy it most. He knows he would enjoy it, and it tears him up inside. 

Hannibal pauses. 

“Then we haven’t worked past apologies and forgiveness have we?”

Will almost laughs at the irony.

”We’ve passed a lot of things.” The anger is still kindling in his stomach, and now the dreams were coming back in full force. Almost overtaking his attention from the man in front of him. “I discovered a truth about myself, when I tried to have you killed.” Will admits. 

“That doing bad things to bad people makes you _feel good_?” Hannibal asks. Will tries to suppress tears of an unknown emotion that threaten to cloud his vision. 

It’s sickening to admit it to Hannibal, even knowing what he is and what he does. Probably because it’s truly admitting it to himself. 

“Yes.”

“I need to know if you’re going to try to kill me again, Will.” This question is not rhetorical. Hannibal truly doesn’t know. 

Will furrows his eyebrows, tongue placed gently between his lips as he shakes his head. 

“I don’t want to kill you anymore, Dr. Lecter.” Will struggles to control his facial expression. “Not now that I finally find you interesting.” It is the truth, and it surely stings. 

Hannibal smiles. 

“Good.” Is all he says, before leaning back slightly in his chair. “Remember that you said you would be honest.” 

“I will.” Will’s voice comes out solemn. 

“When you fantasize about killing me,” Hannibal looks at Will, locking eyes. “does it arouse you, Will?” 

He was not expecting that. 

It catches him off guard, and his eyebrows raise in shock. Will feels heat creep up his neck, red hot with arousal and embarrassment. 

Honesty, he reminds himself. He brings his eyes to Hannibal’s. 

“Yes.” 

Will is unable to tell if Hannibal is shocked, disgusted, or pleased. His face remains almost completely still, besides a small quirk of the corners of his lips.

Will’s heart is beating fast in his ears. 

“I dream of it.” Will continues, unprompted. “Often. You haunt even my unconscious, Dr. Lecter. I’m sure that pleases you greatly.” His voice is venomous. 

“Why would it please me, Will?” His head tilts to the side. “To hear that you fantasize about ending my life? That it plagues your dreams?” 

Will is stuck dumb at Hannibal’s words. It’s clear in that moment that this is exactly what pleases Hannibal; he’s ecstatic at the news that he’s burning a permanent place for himself into Will’s mind.

“Are you saying it doesn’t?” Will asks, knowing the answer fully. 

Hannibal doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t appear to intend to answer the question. Hannibal’s pleasure is unspoken and doesn’t require a reply.

“Are you aroused right now, Will?” Hannibal asks, eyes trailing from Will’s face to the fly of his pants. 

Will was fighting mortification at the realization that he was, in fact, hard. The tent of fabric was obvious as Will felt Hannibal’s eyes trail down his body and land on it. 

A moment passes silently between them. 

“Do I need to answer that?” Will asks dryly. He resists the urge to pull his shirt down to cover himself. 

“I would prefer you do.” Hannibal says, eyes back at eye-level. 

“Then, _yes_ , Hannibal.” Will says, his voice sharp as he feels his throat begin to dry with anger and embarrassment. “I’m aroused in your office, thinking about killing you, knowing that I won’t, even when you’re right there in front of me.” 

Will stands suddenly, breaching the small gap between the two chairs they sat in. He enjoys this view, downcast on Hannibal, watching the man look up at him. He attempted to ignore the eroticism of his erection dangerously nearing mouth-level of the other man. Not that Hannibal appeared to mind. 

“May I suggest a different form of therapy for this session?” Hannibal muses, uncrossing his legs in his chair, eyes still flicked upward at Will. 

“And what would that be?” Will asks, incredulous at the man’s calmness. He’s staring down his nose at the man. His body is tense and his muscles feel rigid.

“A hands-on approach.” He stands suddenly too, forcing himself face to face with Will. “Show me exactly what you dream about.”

Will wordlessly accepts the instruction, his hands rising from his sides on their own accord. He steps forward once more, getting ever closer. 

Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he places his hands squarely on Hannibal’s throat. Hannibal swallows thickly, and Will can feel his adam’s apple bob under his skin. He can feel the air that passes through his windpipe, and even the pulse beating deeply in his jugular, warm blood pumping quickly to Hannibal’s heart. 

“It’ll take more than that to kill me.” Hannibal says simply, as if to give Will permission. Will obliges. 

His hands tighten, not bothering to leave proper airway support, he was pretend-killing the man after all. Will begins walking the both of them forward until Hannibal’s back collides sharply with the bookcase on the wall. 

Will can’t stop his grip from tightening. 

Hannibal’s face is similar to his dream, though the smirk is less overt. His mouth is open, pink lips parted in an ‘o’ shape, while his nostrils flared, surely gasping for air. Will could feel Hannibal’s body desperately gulping for air under his forceful grip. 

It turned him on to no end. 

He could feel burning arousal pumping through him, his dick hardening more by the second, and he couldn’t find a reason to be embarrassed any longer. This is what his dreams had wanted him to realize. How good this could feel. 

When Hannibal began to pale slightly, Will snapped back to reality somewhat, releasing the man from his grasp. His arms ached from the exertion. 

The spotty red handprints that wrapped around Hannibal’s neck were sure to bruise. Will’s handprints. He felt the urge to put his handprints everywhere he could, watching them tinge purple and yellow until his marks were all over Hannibal. He wanted them to hurt. 

“Thank you, Will.” Said Hannibal. His voice was wheezing and breathless. Will couldn’t fathom why he was thanking him. 

“Y-you’re thanking me?” Will asks incredulously. “What on Earth would you be thanking me for after I just nearly strangled you?” 

“With my permission, of course.” Hannibal was still smugly grinning, somehow. “And I thanked you for being honest. You don’t want to kill me.” 

It was true. 

Will could’ve killed Hannibal right then. He was nearly there, a few more minutes and he would’ve done the world a solid by offing the Chesapeake Ripper. But he didn’t. Because, Will supposed, he truly didn’t want to. Hannibal must be the only man on the planet who knows Will more than Will knows himself. 

He’s angry at himself, almost. For not wanting to kill Hannibal. And then, he’s even more angry at himself for wanting to. Will’s moral compass is severely damaged, and it’s getting harder to abide by every day. 

“Then _why,_ Hannibal?” It came out as a much more pathetic plea than Will had intended. His voice wavered as a rush of emotions clawed their way up his throat. “Why do I dream of it? Why do all of these wicked _fantasies_ dominate my thoughts?” Will choked out. 

“You don’t have to kill me in order to see me hurt, Will.” Hannibal says, monotone as always. The handprints in his neck are a clear red outline now, slightly raised, tinged purple at the edges. “In fact, it may be... therapeutic, for you.” 

It was nothing other than permission. 

Will could hardly stop himself from bringing his hands up to Hannibal’s face cupping it, his strong jaw sharp against his palms.   
Their lips connected, angrily, aggressively, little more than teeth and tongue. Will was aware of a hand grabbing his hair tightly in a fist. He liked the way his scalp burned at the grip.

Will was breathing heavily into the kiss. It was like his breath had been stolen from his lungs at the contact. His mind was clouded, completely unclear except for one thing. Hannibal. 

It become clear to Will, as soon as he removed a hand from Hannibal’s face to grip his waist, closing the gap between their bodies, that Hannibal was enjoying this just as much as Will. His suit pants were doing a poor job of masking the erection that ground against Will’s own. 

Will couldn’t suppress a moan, more akin to a whimper, at the newly realized friction as he continued his assault into Hannibal’s mouth for dear life. 

“Will, Will—“ Hannibal said suddenly into Will’s mouth, their kiss ending abruptly as he separated them. “What do you want?” 

Will had to think, what did he want? He had no clue where to start. 

“What do you suggest, Doctor?” Will asked, still catching his breath. “This is part of my therapy, is it not?” 

Hannibal smiled at that, though it was impossible to tell whether or not it meant he was pleased or furious. He was completely and frustratingly unreadable. 

“You must act out whatever instances plague you most.” Hannibal’s lips quirked into a grin. “May I suggest, _consuming_ me, Will?”

Will’s nose wrinkled into disgust at the humor.

“Poor taste, Hannibal.” Said Will, though didn’t protest any further as he sank slowly to his knees beneath the man.

His fingers were deft at the quick undoing of Hannibal’s button and fly. The recently-pristine slacks were wrinkled from Will’s relentless friction, and it pleased him greatly to see them fall to the floor. 

Hannibal’s boxers were plain black. Boring, but reasonable. Seeing his undergarments somehow felt more intimate than actually having his dick in his throat. 

Speaking of—

Will palmed Hannibal’s cock through the fabric, feeling the outline, throughly enjoying the feeling of it hardening even further beneath his touch. Even more than that, he enjoyed the way Hannibal’s head was thrown backward slightly, face struggling to keep composed. 

“Will.” His voice was gruff, more like a bark of orders than a request. Will understood. 

He pushed the black material down to join Hannibal’s pants at his ankles, allowing his cock to spring free, which was completely erect and ready, red at the tip, and watched as it slapped lewdly against Hannibal’s stomach, covered by his shirt. 

Though it was crude, Will spit into one hand, watching as the last of it strung obscenely from his lips, now glistening. He then took Hannibal in his fist, starting from the base, dragging his hand all the way to the tip, taking extra time to collect the precum that was accumulating at the slit for extra slick. Will’s strokes were slow and purposeful, watching in awe at the way Hannibal tensed every time Will reached the head of his cock. 

Hannibal’s breathing was shallow, his face rosy red and hair dangling in front of his eyes. Will couldn’t find it in him to relent. 

Instead, he sat up straighter, using both hands on Hannibal’s thighs to brace himself, allowing his mouth to close around the girth of Hannibal’s dick, letting his tongue glide and swirl around it as he bobbed. 

Hannibal’s hands were in his tangles of brown hair immediately. 

The sting of it only encouraged him, and he eventually worked his way all the way down until his nose was nestled in the thick of hair at the base. He liked the way Hannibal was heavy in his throat, his jaw beginning to tire from the effort of keeping it wide. 

Will explored with his tongue, tracing every vein and curve before going back to taking him in completely. Every once in a while he would look up, only to see Hannibal’s face contorted in pleasure at the sight of Will on his knees. 

“Will I—“ Hannibal groaned loudly from over him. “You need to stop.” Will continued to push further down his length, looking to get it all the way down again until his hair was sharply pulled, his head forced backward off of Hannibal completely by the man. 

Spit was dripping from his lips, red and puffy from his work, and the saliva string connected them to the head of Hannibal’s cock. His pants were painful at their containment of his hard on and yet he was somewhat disappointed to have been stopped from continuing. 

“What?” He asked, surprised at how irritated he sounded. 

Hannibal only smiled at him, face glistening with sweat. 

“I want to get farther than this, don’t you?” He asked, as if it was the most polite question in the world. “Then we mustn’t finish too soon.” A double-meaning that wasn’t lost on Will, and he all but suppressed a laugh. 

Will stood, now eye-to-eye with Hannibal. The hand prints were now a garish purple, the clear outlines of Will’s fingers seemingly permanently etched into place. He had no reservations about tracing them with his finger, feeling the way Hannibal flinched when he applied pressure. 

He pushed harder into one of the finger-prints until he saw a slight twitch of Hannibal’s eyebrow. 

“Do you find joy in your marks on me?” Hannibal asked, just as polite as he was in their normal sessions. 

“Yes.” Will said curtly. He was still tracing the outline with his fingers, studying the way they curved around his throat. 

“We’ll start there, then.” Hannibal slid off his jacket, and began to unbutton his suit vest, before it fell to the ground too. Before he could begin on his shirt, Will replaced his hands at the buttons, undoing them swiftly before sliding the fabric slowly and gently down Hannibal’s shoulders, enjoying the reveal of every inch of soft, pale skin. 

Hannibal showed absolutely no bashfulness at being the only one undressed, next to Will’s fully clothed body. He seemed to want to flaunt it, as if it was a prize that Will had won. Will had to admit he felt as if he’d won something too, as he watched the button down fall to the floor with a soft sound. 

Without any further instruction from Hannibal, his mouth was quick and violent on the other man’s skin. He nipped and sucked at the joint between his shoulder and throat several times, littering the area with purple marks. 

He found some sort of pride within him each time his mouth disconnected and he saw the discolored hickey contrasting with Hannibal’s skin.   
  


His hands cupped the curve of Hannibal’s naked waist as he moved further down his chest, trailing bruises behind him. Then, he moved to the other side of Hannibal’s neck, placing his wet mouth at the base of it, sucking until he was sure there would be an ugly purple mark. His next words came so spontaneously that he was shocked at himself when he heard them come from his mouth.

”I want to bite you, Hannibal.” It was the truth. Will said it with his face inches from the hickey he’d just created, his voice slightly muffled. “I want to see you bleed from it. I want to taste it.” 

He shoved every sense of shame down as they crept up his stomach. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Hannibal for his reaction. What had he become? 

“This is your therapy Will, do as you must.” Will was practically overheating with want as he heard the permission. 

Without another thought, he opened his mouth wide before sinking his teeth down into the soft flesh of the man before him. He clenched his jaw tighter until he felt his teeth break the skin. Hannibal was unbelievably tense beneath his fingers. 

When he pulled off, fat droplets of blood had already begun to gather at the marks of Will’s teeth, which where a uniform circle of deep imprints. 

Will registered Hannibal’s sharp intake of breath when he leaned back in, swiping his tongue over the wound once, twice, three times, until the blood slowed. 

Despite what he’d thought, the blood was not sweet. It was bitter and sour, just as one would expect. He’d expected to hate it, to want to vomit and spit it out at the coppery taste, but he didn’t. 

Knowing that Hannibal was bleeding for him, and that he was tasting the blood of someone who’d tried to ruin his life and practically succeeded? It made him want to bite Hannibal a thousand more times until he’d bled him out completely. 

“Is it good?” Hannibal asks, voice slightly shaking. 

“It’s better than I could have dreamed.” Will replies, licking the wound once more, just for another taste. This time, he notices the way Hannibal’a cock twitches at the action. “Do you enjoy this, Hannibal? Me... hurting you?”

Will and the FBI had been sure the Chesapeake Ripper was a sadist, so why was he getting this reaction from Hannibal? Why was his cock jerking at Will’s teeth in his shoulder?

”I’m not a masochist, in the traditional sense.” Hannibal says, as meandering and convoluted as usual. “But when I see you, Will,” One of his hands rises to cup Will’s face. “I see that I created a thirst for it within you,” His hand falls to rest gently on Will’s shoulder. “and I find immeasurable joy in nourishing it.” 

He found pleasure in the fact that he’d forced Will to the brink, into the dark realm of sadism and hatred. Created his deepest desire to cause pain in bad people. He found _pleasure_ in it. 

Will wanted to hit him. Really hit him, then. Punch him and break and bruise his knuckles until his hand was bleeding, shattered, completely nonfunctional in order to instill pain into Hannibal. The pain he deserved.

_His creation._

Despite his disgust, his disdain for the man, he couldn’t help but desire to indulge him. He wanted to lay him down and make him beg. To cry out at the sight of Will, at his creation, to whimper and cry because of him. To reap what he sowed in Will. 

Will decided against saying anything. 

Instead, he connected his and Hannibal’s lips again, the kiss still as punchy and fiery as before. Hannibal could taste his own blood on Will’s lips, and he truly didn’t mind. 

Will began to guide them again, forcing Hannibal to completely step out of his clothing, in order to walk across the office the the long, flat couch. Will’d never actually lay here before, he usually opted for the chairs. 

When they got there, Will pushed Hannibal backward onto the couch, watching as he fell beneath him. Without another moment’s hesitation, he climbed over him, straddling his hips. 

Hannibal needed no prompting in order to quickly begin undoing Will’s shirt, his finger skillfully undoing each button with ease. With no struggle at all, and their lips still attached, Hannibal was able to slide Will’s shirt from his shoulders, sliding down his arms before allowing it to be cast aside. 

Hannibal breaks the kiss, then, not being able to resist the temptation to touch at the reveal of Will’s skin. His mouth kissed, not marked, all up and down Will’s chest, soft marks of affection entirely too sweet for their predicament. 

“You’re beautiful, Will.” Says Hannibal softly, as his face is nuzzled into ‘V’ of Will’s hips. 

“Is this a scenario where _pillow talk_ is necessary?” Will muses dryly. 

“I’m being genuine. You’re like a gorgeous sculpture, you belong in a museum. Absolutely priceless.” Hannibal continues kissing up Will’s hip. He paused for a moment. “I’d love to watch you shatter.”

Then, Will’s furiously undoing his belt and fly, pushing his pants down his legs with an intensity he didn’t know he had in him. He doesn’t shy away from Hannibal’s gaze which he can feel on his dick as it’s released from the confines of his boxers. The relief is nice, his erection finally allowed out of the unforgiving fabric of his pants.

“Lube—“ Will pants out, realizing suddenly that he did not come prepared to fuck his psychiatrist when he left the house today.

”Try the inside pocket of my jacket.” Said Hannibal, still looking up at Will with desire as he was being straddled. 

Will suppressed his urge to curse, peeling himself off of Hannibal, fleeing to the nearby pile of clothes they’d accumulated. Fishing through it, he found Hannibal’s jacket, shoving his hand in the multiple inside pockets until he felt an object in one. 

He pulled it out, seeing it was a small bottle, and— yep it was lube. 

“Should I be questioning why you have a lube bottle in your pocket, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked, still studying the bottle. 

“Perhaps you should.” Hannibal was now splayed out facing Will like a true renaissance painting, sprawled along the length of the couch with one arm above his head, the other draped seductively around the curve of his waist. “But that takes time, and I get the impression you may not want to delay this any longer.” He was right about that. 

Will wasted no time finding his way back to Hannibal, this time crawling onto the couch on his hands and knees. Hannibal took the queue and promptly positioned himself behind Will. 

“Just to prep, Hannibal.” Will confirmed, leaning into his elbows now. “You’ll enjoy your _creation_ when I’m ready.” 

Without complaint, Hannibal opens the bottle of lube, spreading a generous amount on one of his fingers before gently parting Will’s cheeks, revealing his hole for easier access. 

He wordlessly slides one finger in, knuckle by knuckle. Will is panting beneath him, trying to relax his muscles, but fighting a losing battle. It feels like he’s been hard for hours, and without his release this morning it was getting harder to hold on. 

Will bites his bottom lip hard to conceal his sounds as best he can, but he’s sure that Hannibal hears anyway, because he adds another finger. 

They feel wide, even though it’s not even Hannibal’s cock yet, just his fingers for gods sake, but the way Hannibal was stretching him so expertly made Will want to crumble at his feet. 

With the third finger, Will had to concentrate very hard on the pattern of the couch cushion in order to stop himself from coming. He was sure he was leaking precum onto the fabric, and was shocked at the lack of response from Hannibal. He was too busy with his fingers, apparently. 

“Okay, okay, okay!” Will exclaimed as he felt himself nearing his orgasm far too soon. “I’m ready.” Hannibal removed his fingers. 

Will sat up, taking Hannibal by the shoulders and roughly shoving him down onto the cushions, until he lay flat beneath Will. He once again threw a leg over Hannibal’s hips until he was straddling him, their cocks just inches apart. 

Will leaned forward, bracing himself by placing a hand next to Hannibal’s head to stay steady.   
  


Then, he took Hannibal’s pert cock in his hand, angling it to slide perfectly inside him, before slowly sinking down, just a few inches. 

The previously stoic Hannibal was not so composed now, cheeks flush, face contorted into a strange expression of pure pleasure. The veins in his forehead were beginning to pop out as Will slowly began his descent. 

“Can I touch you, Will?” Hannibal asked between breathy groans.

Will wants to refuse, out of stubbornness, but can’t resist the desire to feel Hannibal’s warm hands on him. He nods. 

Hannibal’s hands fly to Will, one resting on his hip, tracing the protruding bone, while the other cups the soft curve of Will’s ass. Will cannot suppress a moan at the contact. 

He looks down at Hannibal, so completely vulnerable, eyes wide with want, and he can’t stop eyeing his throat, bruised and red, the scattering of hickeys he’d accumulated, and mostly, the angry red bite mark at the base of his neck. 

He was pleased, somehow, to see the pool of dried blood that had trickled down to his collarbone. 

Will sank lower on Hannibal, now beginning a particularly ruthless pace. Hannibal, after already unintentionally edging himself with the unfinished blowjob, was struggling immensely to stave off his climax. 

There was no chance that Will was going to relent, only quickening his pace as Hannibal panted beneath him. 

Will‘s other hand, which was not being leaned on for stability, found it’s way to Hannibal’s neck. 

It traced the lines there, feeling the raised patterns of the previous assault. 

“Is that how you would do it?” Asked Hannibal suddenly. 

“W-what?” Will asked, confused, as he sank deeper onto Hannibal’s cock. 

“Would you— oh, Will— you strangle me?” He was moaning with reckless abandon now, no effort to muffle himself. “Watch the air leave my lungs?” 

Will nodded furiously. He felt saliva pool in his mouth with lust. 

“Yes, Hannibal, yes.” He grunted out, legs on fire from the work of being on top. “I’d squeeze your throat until I-I saw the life leave your eyes.” Will jerked suddenly as Hannibal’s cock twitched inside him. “And I’d enjoy and savor every second.”

The sounds of their bodies slapping together, wet by sweat and lube, was completely unbecoming, and neither of them seemed to care. 

“Show me.”

Will’s hands were on Hannibal in a second. Now putting his entire weight on him from the sheer leverage from being on top, Will was able to truly feel every muscle and tendon on Hannibal’s throat. 

Blood gushed loudly in his ears as he watched the man below him gasp for air, face bright rosy red and glistening with sweat. 

Hannibal’s face, most noticeable of all, was curled into a sickly sweet smirk, enjoying every moment Will’s hands were at his throat. 

It was unspoken, as Hannibal threw his head back, as much as he could with Will’s hands tightly wound around his throat. 

_Cum._

So Hannibal did. His cock lurched inside of Will, the warm cum releasing into Will in ways he hadn’t experienced. As soon as he felt it begin to drop out of him, down his thighs, he couldn’t help but follow. 

His hands instinctively dropped from Hannibal’s throat, allowing him to gasp loudly for air. 

Will’s arms flew behind him, until he was propped on them, back arched at an incredible angle, before his balls drew up and he came up his stomach, thick ropes of cum stubbornly finding their way all the way to Will’s chest from the long held-off release. 

When Will collapsed onto Hannibal’s chest, their cum obscenely mixed between their chests and legs, Hannibal didn’t mind. 

They lay silently, Hannibal running his fingers through Will’s hair, and Will tracing the angry red hand marks on Hannibal’s neck that he secretly hoped would last forever. 


End file.
